Thursday, February 18, 2010

in the distance you can see
the soft blue dot
of Bloggingham's half-baked mountainIt took me a while to get there from here.
Along tree-lined two-lane paths
full of the deadness of branches
twigs exposed
shallow
winter's song
winter's scourge
I remember those I knew
and those I never knew
and those I thought I knew

Past the icy bridge I took way too fast...

past the old abandoned mill

where I should be paying attention to the concrete curve and not the golden whirling water

I make my way toward the soft blue dot
and wonder how I got here
how I left here
how I came back here
and why I keep coming back here
why I am
here

past a blue blue sky
full of brittle leaves and fences

and looming barns who watch my comings and goings
on the roads I've made quite nicely my own
I climb through the memory of all my walks toward home
and all my wades through water
and all my dances

Delightful and picturesque. I, too, would have been looking at the stunning golden water.

You return not of your mind's understanding, but because of your spirit's longing to connect to itself. I believe we all have a place that our souls beckon. The red barn reminds me of my great grandmother's property in North Carolina.